


His Greatest Failure

by ifdaryldiesweriot



Series: Supernatural Reader-Inserts [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, But Chuck is, Chuck is an asshat, F/M, God! Chuck, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Metatron isn't a total douche, Reader-Insert, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Swearing, Witch! Reader - Freeform, reader has done some bad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifdaryldiesweriot/pseuds/ifdaryldiesweriot
Summary: “You know, I've found humanity on a whole to be a disappointment, but I have to say, you turned out to be the biggest disappointment of them all.”If Chuck had been paying more attention, he would have realised that there was something a little off about the scruffy dog that tagged along with Metatron. When you accepted the job of keeping tabs on the disgraced scribe of God, you had no idea that you would come face-to-face with your presumed dead boyfriend, Chuck.





	His Greatest Failure

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had the thought to write this as a one-shot with zero canon divergence, but as the ideas flowed it ended up bringing the reader into the story as more than just a passive observer. As such, you will recognise most of this chapter from the episode 'Don't Call Me Shurley.'

You almost felt sorry for Metatron as you watched the scene unfolding in front of you. Rifling urgently through the battered dumpster for scraps, it was clear that humanity was taking its toll on the ex-angel. Still, there was no denying that he deserved to suffer, and you weren't inclined to do anything other than observe his earned misfortune.

Ever since he'd lost his grace, you'd taken to keeping tabs on the scribe, using your witchy anthromorphic powers under Sam and Dean's instruction to ensure that he wasn't causing trouble - though you were sure it was a ploy to keep you out of trouble of your own. Recently you'd been particularly worried that he had been working with Amara, but seeing him in this state, it was clear that those fears were unfounded – he was barely surviving himself.

Reassured that there was no reason for concern, you let out a balking noise as you watched Metatron grin at the uncovered remains a stale, half-eaten baloney sandwich. Unfortunately for you, Metatron must have taken the noise that you emitted for one of wanting, and in an uncharacteristic act of what would have been kindness – had you actually been a starving, stray mutt, of course - he pulled the stinking meat from the sandwich and tossed it down in front of you.

Closing your eyes tightly, you forced yourself to swallow down his offering, keeping up your charade as you listened to his continued search through the garbage for a meal of his own. Loud clangs inside of the dumpster signalled his increasing desperation, and you felt a glimmer of pity for the newly turned human.

“I give up!” Metatron screamed into the dark, empty alleyway, his voice broken. Except... you weren't in an alleyway. Not any more, anyway.

The chilly night air had been replaced with a warm, beer scented atmosphere. Soft lighting illuminated the bar you'd been transported to, the upbeat tones of The Beach Boys filled your ears, which were pricked up in apprehension.

The ex-angel seemed equally perturbed as he took in your new surroundings. “Yeah Toto, I got a feeling we aren't on Earth any more either,” he told you uneasily.

After a moment, his gaze focused on a booth set against the far wall, and he began to walk tentatively towards it. “Hello?” Tilting your head to follow his line of sight, you held back a gasp – well, bark - as your eyes landed on a very scruffy, very familiar looking man. A man who, as far as you were aware, had died five years ago. 

“Carver Edlund?” Metatron asked incredulously, as anger coursed through you. It took all of your willpower not to change back into your human form and give the prophet a peace of your mind, but as Metatron spoke to Chuck, referring to the bar as “one of the 'Big Man's' constructs,” you knew to keep silent. As much as your ex-boyfriend was due a severe tongue-lashing for abandoning you without a word, you'd been in this life for long enough to know that reconnaissance had to take priority.

Trying to ignore the fury that was currently overcoming you, you listened as Metatron began to goad Chuck. “This is some kind of punishment isn't it? For my sins. A limbo where I get to spend eternity in a crappy bar with a hack writer. Give me a break!”

Chuck frowned, offended by Metatron's words, and you felt a perverse pleasure in watching the writer being taken down a peg – even if it was by the douchiest angel in creation. 

“You really think I'm a hack?” Chuck asked, eyebrows creasing with displeasure. You remembered how he'd always been very critical of his own work, often looking to you for support when he struggled with self-doubt. A long time ago, seeing him squirm from Metatron's disapproval would have made your heart ache for the introverted author. But not any more.

“I have trudged through your complete oeuvre – published and unpublished. Of the metric ton of books that I've read in my lifetime, Supernatural didn't even crack the top ten-” _Well, that's not much of an insult_ , you frowned prematurely. - _Thousand_ ,” Metatron continued after a beat, and you found it hard not to snicker.

“You didn't like any of them?” Chuck asked, looking put out. “Not even 'Home', or 'All Hell Breaks Loose'?”

Metatron let out an exasperated noise. “Way too much melodrama, and then you put yourself in the story? Urgh.”

“Okay, that's fair,” Chuck nodded, his voice still traced with hurt. “Mildly constructive. Still doesn't justify you burning one of my books though.”

_Wait, what?_

Chuck had been AWOL for the last six years, and Metatron had only come out of hiding in the last three... How could Chuck possibly know anything that the scribe had done lately? Was he still having visions? And why would he be having visions of Metatron?

“What are you talking about?” Metatron asked, equally perplexed.

“'Tall Tales' – You were monologuing to Castiel and you threw one in the fire.” Chuck replied casually.

Okay, now this was getting weird.

“How do you know about that?” Metatron questioned, looking perturbed.

Chuck's expression brightened up at this. “Oh, I'm sorry. I always forget, people can't see me unless I want them to see me. Its very confusing,” he answered, handed Metatron a pair of sunglasses. “Here, visual aid. Put these on - they'll help.”

Metatron took the glasses warily, putting them on and focusing on Chuck. You leaned up from your position on the bar counter, watching as Chuck snapped his fingers, and though you were unable to see whatever was making Metatron gasp in shock, seconds later the answer of your unspoken question was vocalised for you.

“You – God!” Metatron gasped.

You could hear Metatron's rambling as he sank to his knees before Chuck, or apparently, God. His joyous voice filled the bar, but you barely registered what he was saying, your focus entirely on the humbly dressed man in the booth. 

Chuck couldn't be God. It wasn't possible. You'd dated him for over a year - supported him, took care of him when the visions were too much. And more, you'd slept with him. There was no fucking way that you could have slept with God and not known about it. This was some kind of mistake, it had to be.

“Okay, okay. All the kneeling makes me deeply, deeply uncomfortable,” Chuck told Metatron, helping him up from the floor. “Don't use the G word, okay. Just call me Chuck.”

 _Chuck?_ You laughed internally.

“Chuck?” Metatron asked incredulously.

“Chuck.” God smiled, reassuringly.

Metatron paled. “I think I need a stiffer drink.”

_You and me both._

Metatron made a beeline for the bar, pouring himself a large glass of whiskey and taking a deep drink. “So, what have you been up to?” He asked Chuck, as though he were casually talking to an old friend, but the waiver in his voice gave away his distress.

You'd quite like to know the answer to that yourself. After disappearing overnight with no explanation, Chuck had better have been doing something pretty freaking important. 

“Oh, I've been super busy.” Chuck said, walking over to the bar where you lay, but not bothering to acknowledge your presence. You'd used a pretty powerful cloaking spell on your magic, but you weren't sure if your handiwork would be enough to protect your identity against God. If he did know who you really were though, he didn't show any sign of it.

“I've been travelling,” Chuck continued excitedly to Metatron. “Started a blog – mostly just pictures of cats - its super cute. And I signed up for Snapchat! Oh, and I started a new series of books.” He made a headline gesture with his hand, “Revolution.” He shook his head, “I don't think its going anywhere.”

He'd left you for cat blogs and Snapchat? _Seriously?_ Your anger was quickly returning.

“Revolution, Supernatural. Maybe titles aren't your thing.” Metatron commented wearily, looking tired as he nursed his beverage.

“You're not wrong,” Chuck agreed, wandering towards the back of the bar-room.

“But why did you put on the Chuck suit in the first place? Why did that make any sense to you?”

You were thankful that Metatron was asking the same questions that were troubling you, even if he was unaware he was doing so.

“I wanted front row seats.” Chuck answered. “I figured I'd hide out in plain sight. Plus, you know, acting is fun.”

Fun? Seriously? Your relationship with the prophet had been fraught with stress, his drinking and visions often sending you to dark places, the emotional strain giving you nightmares of your own. How the fuck could putting you through that be fun for him?

“Well, its an Oscar-worthy performance,” Metatron commented, picking up his glass and moving to the table. “But how did nobody know? What about that amulet thingy? You told me about some silly charm that burned brightly in the presence of – you.” _Dean's amulet._

“You mean this?” Chuck asked, pulling the necklace from thin air. “I turned it off.” With a snap of his fingers, the amulet glowed blindingly bright. “You'll never guess where this thing has been the entire time.”

Fury flowed through you, the more that Chuck spoke, the more you wanted to reveal yourself and throttle the living crap out of him. Castiel had gone through so much trying to find his absent father, and for what? For Chuck to have switched the fucking thing off? How could be be so callous.

“I don't care about that ugly old thing, or why you were slumming it with the plebs.” Metatron told him, holding out a hand. For Metatron's sake, you really hoped that he wasn't including you in his use of 'plebs'. “Let's brass some tax already, okay. You see and hear all, you know what an absolute piece of garbage I've been over the last couple of years-” understatement of the century, “-did you bring me here to destroy me?”

It was a fair question, but if that was Chuck's intention, he could have easily done the job without dragging things out like this, and besides, Chuck never showed any signs of wrathfulness when you were together – although perhaps that was a part of his act. Still, you were sure that there had to be another reason for bringing Metatron – and by extension, you – to the bar.

“You know what humanity's greatest creation has been?” Chuck asked, avoiding the question as he began to walk away from Metatron. “Music. That and nacho cheese – even I couldn't have dreamed up that deliciousness. But music is magic! A lot of remarkable music was created in this space – Bee Gee's 'Canteen'! – Sure, its not as well known as 'The Bitter End' or 'Gaslight', but some amazing musicians got their start on this stage. I'm hoping that you and I can tap into some of that old magic, and finish what I started a few months ago.”

Chuck pointed over to the table, a manuscript now sitting beside his laughable 'World's Greatest Dad' mug. 

Metatron scooped the stack of papers up, looking to Chuck with an amused smile. “You wrote your own autobiography?”

“Ish,” Chuck confirmed. “I mean there are chapters, its kind of a loose structure. But something's missing. I'm stuck.”

“You want to get the old band back together,” Metatron nodded, still smiling as he put the manuscript back down. “Lennon and McCartney ride again.”

“Well, I'm kind of Lennon and McCartney,” Chuck told him, looking slightly guilty for saying so. “But, every writer needs a good editor. I did some of my best work with you Metatron.”

You thought you'd done a pretty good job helping Chuck to edit the last few Supernatural books, but of course you couldn't compete with 'The Scribe of God'. You rolled your canine eyes.

“Does this mean that I get to be an angel again?” Metatron asked hopefully. _Hell no._

Chuck burst out laughing, patting Metatron on the shoulder. “No, no. That's never happening.” At least Chuck hadn't gone totally insane then.

“That's probably for the best,” Metatron agreed, looking at the floor in embarrassment, and there was an awkward silence before Metatron turned around and picked the manuscript back up from the table. “Well, lets do this.”

Watching Metatron read in silence was boring, and you wished that there was a way for you to inconspicuously read over the scribe's shoulder. The two of them sat back-to-back in separate booths, Metatron going over Chuck's work in red pen, occasionally marking down notes. You spent a while just staring at your ex, the hush giving you chance to process everything that was going on. Seeing him alive, you'd quickly gone from shock, to happiness, to anger in a matter of milliseconds. Now though, looking over at the adorable face of the only man you'd ever truly loved, you felt a sadness, memories of years gone by coursing through your mind.

* * * * *

**Six Years Ago**

_“I'm home,” you yelled in a cheerful voice, fumbling to shut the front door while juggling the heavy paper bags balanced in your arms._

_You set the groceries down on the table, looking around for your absent boyfriend. “Chuck?” You called out, noting the empty glass bottle on the table. He was probably looking for something else to drink away his headache._

_Just as you were about to check in the kitchen, you paused as your gaze caught on the lit-up computer screen._

_“No doubt, endings are hard.” You read aloud. “But then again.... Nothing ever really ends,does it?”_

_“Is this – is this really how it ends?” You asked loudly, eyes wide as scrolled up to read the entire chapter._

_But no answer ever came._

_One day passed, and then another. Chuck never returned home._

_No hunter had any leads. No demons would offer you a deal. You joined a coven, learning and using magic darker than you dared tell the Winchesters. Despite your desperate efforts, all hope seemed lost._

_For a long time you thought that the day Chuck disappeared was the worst day of your life, but then you met Kevin Tran, and your heart broke anew. There couldn't be two prophets, Castiel told you._

_Chuck Shurley was gone._

* * * * *

“Just give me some broad strokes, first impressions.” Chuck instructed, moving to join Metatron at the softly lit table.

“Its good,” Metatron told him, not sounding overly convincing. “Really good.”

“Oh man,” Chuck sat back, his face falling. “You hated it.”

“What? No! I love it. Love it!” Metatron lied.

“The last time I saw that look on an editor's face, I'd just handed him 'Bugs'. Come on, safe place.”

Metatron hesitated, “Details are what makes a story great. This is lacking in some details – like, all of them.” You couldn't help but wonder if there was anything about you in Chuck's latest work, perhaps not, if it was lacking in detail. Having potential answers for Chuck's sudden disappearance laying a mere few feet away was frustrating to say the least.

Chuck pulled the manuscript towards him, looking angry as he read back over his own work. “'In the beginning, there was me.' Boom, details! And what a grabber – I'm hooked, and I was there.”

If that was Chuck's opening line, you couldn't predict the book receiving very positive criticism.

“I'm hooked too,” Metatron agreed. “And yet, details.”

Chuck looked confusedly at Metatron.

“You weren't alone in the beginning.” Metatron reminded him carefully. “Your sister was with you.”

Chuck sat up straight, folding his arms petulantly. “Who cares about her?” He asked darkly.

“Umm... Me?” Metatron admitted nervously. “I assume you're aware that she's out and about. Tanned, rested and ready. I mean that's why you're back, right?”

You held your breath as Chuck leaned close to Metatron, his voice giving you an eerie chill. “This isn't her story.” He told Metatron, almost angrily. “Its mine.”

“I'll just... Finish reading.” Metatron stuttered, readjusting his glasses and taking the manuscript back, avoiding eye contact with the bearded writer.

The silence returned and you closed your eyes, annoyed at Chuck for skimming around the most important topic at hand.

 

You were pretty sure that you'd fallen asleep for a while, the click-clack of pool balls colliding rousing you from your slumber. Hearing footsteps approaching, you lazily opened one eye to find Metatron walking towards you, grabbing a glass from behind the bar and pouring himself a large drink with a sigh.

“That bad?” Chuck asked, setting down his pool cue.

“I'll tell you, there's some great bones in there,” Metatron praised disingenuously, making Chuck roll his eyes. “I'm thinking what's missing is less about detail, and more about balance.”

“How do you mean?”

“You're giving the wrong stuff too much real estate. Like that chapter about being Chuck.”

“What about it?”

“Once you've explained the Vonnegut performance art, that should be it. No one cares about the rest.”

“I did some great stuff as Chuck!” 'God' defended. “I mean, I told you about my blog...” _Great, more about the stupid cat blog._ Had he even mentioned you at all?

“Oh, right. Your um, cat-pic blog.”

“Yeah, its super cute. So there's that, and I travelled a lot. And I dated – had some girlfriends, and a few boyfriends.” _Ouch._ “Oh, and I learned how to play guitar.” He started to strum a few chords on the guitar rested by the bar's stage. _That's new._

“That makes you seem like a really grounded, likeable person,” Metatron told Chuck.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?”

“You are neither grounded, nor a person!” Metatron told him exasperatedly.

“So you're saying I'm likeable,” was what Chuck took from Metatron's critique. _Debatable._

“No, I am saying the chapter 'Chuckles' is devouring pounds of pages at the expense of juicier stuff. Stuff that people might actually want to read.”

“Like what?”

“Like the archangels,” Metatron said, picking the stack of papers up from the table. “You have got maybe two paragraphs on them in here, and that's it!”

Chuck began strumming the guitar again, barely listening to Metatron.

“Don't they deserve a few extra words?” The scribe urged. “Especially your favourite, Lucifer?”

Chuck stopped playing, the tone in the bar suddenly turning cold. “He wasn't my favourite.”

Metatron's mouth widened at his father's blatant lie, pointing an accusing finger towards Chuck. “He helped you defeat Amara, you trusted him with the mark, you asked him to bow to mankind-”

“-He refused.”

“He rebelled! And in doing so, kind of wrecked Christmas.” 

“All that's in there,” Chuck argued, hands in his jeans pockets. “Except for the bit about Christmas.”

“If you say that Amara is off limits, fine. But you know that every great hero is defined by his or her villain.”

“Lucifer was not a villain,” Chuck shook his head. _Funny, I know an angel trapped inside his own head who'd say differently,_ you thought to yourself.

“Okay,” Metatron sighed, “this is still a safe place, right?”

“Safest place ever created,” Chuck confirmed.

“Okay.” Metatron hesitated. “There are two types of memoir. One is honest, the other one not so much. Truth and fairytale. Do you want to write 'Life' by Keith Richards, or do you want to write 'Wouldn't It Be Nice' by Brian Wilson.

“I wanna tell the truth.” Chuck said plainly.

“Then you've got some work to do. There are no revelations in this book, and that's weird given who you are. There's no new information, no soul baring.”

“That's because I don't have a soul.” 

_Clearly._

“Right, but, you invented them! You. Invented. Souls. Souls! Try shining a light on that, how did it make you feel?”

“Nauseous.” Chuck blanched.

“You know what?” Metatron asked, starting to sound annoyed. “No. That is not G-O-D talking, that's Chuck talking. And I get it, when you were on Earth you had to go full method, well it's time for you to get back into character.”

“This is me,” Chuck said, holding his hands up.

“Really, this?” Metatron flipped the pages. “This pile of self-doubt and nebbishness flooded the Earth? Followed up Sodom with a block-buster Gomorrah? Created as much as he punished? No, nuh-uh. The guy I worked for? Total bad-ass. And yes, he could be a dick. Now that guy had some stories to tell.”

Chuck looked up, a half-smile playing on his face. 

“And he has a lot to answer for.” Metatron continued, and Chuck's smile fell.

“Okay, so... What do I do?”

“Hold up a mirror. Show us who you are, warts and all. Write for an audience of one – you.”

“Dance like no one else is watching.”

Metatron let out an encouraging sigh and passed Chuck the manuscript. “I'm gonna help you either way, but you gotta pick a lane. Richards or Wilson, Chuck. Richards or Wilson?”

Chuck took a few steps forward, deep in thought. Tossing the papers in the air, he said decidedly, “Richards, all the way.”

* * * * *

“This, this is what I was talking about,” Metatron praised a grinning Chuck. “Chapter Ten – Why I never answer prayers, and you should be glad I don't.”, “Chapter Eleven – The truth about divine intervention and why I avoid it at all costs.”

“Better, right?” Chuck smiled.

“It's gold!” Metatron rejoiced. “Kind of angry with a side of bitter, but hey – its real! Now, not to overstep my bounds, but since you're on a roll... There is one thing I've always wondered. Maybe it'll make a good chapter, maybe even a whole book.”

Chuck gave Metatron a questioning look. “Shoot.”

“Why?” Metatron asked simply.

“Can you be a little more specific, I kind of get that question a lot about pretty much everything.” Chuck answered uncomfortably.

“Why did you create life?”

Chuck raised his head upwards as though searching for the answer. “I was lonely,” he answered, his features pained.

“Your sister wasn't company enough?”

Chuck's face twisted into a scowl. “I am being. She is nothingness. Its not exactly the makings of a fun two-hander, you know?”

“But you didn't stop at one archangel, or a handful of angels. You created worlds.” Metatron pointed out.

“I was stupid. Naive. I thought that if I could show my sister that there was something more than just us – better than us – then maybe she'd change. Maybe she'd stop being her. But every time I'd build a new world, she'd destroy it.”

“So you and your archangels locked her away, and you got down to unfettered creation.” Metatron finished.

“I tried to anyway, but-”

You found yourself laid on a rocky beach, gazing out at the beautiful fog covered sight of the ocean, the sudden transition making you feel queasy.

“-This is as close as I got to something as good as or better than me, or my sister.” Chuck told Metatron, looking around at the world he had built.

“The national park system?” Metatron asked, bewildered.

“Nature,” Chuck clarified. “I mean, look what nature created on its own. What's more, sometimes nature is smart enough to know that sometimes there is no fixing things. Sometimes you just have to wipe the slate clean.”

A pit formed in your stomach at Chuck's words. He couldn't be suggesting what it sounded like, could he?

“Wipe the slate clean,” Metatron repeated. “Sure, natural selection, good times. Of course in your case that means flood the earth, but build and stock a boat. Start over fresh on the b-side. If Amara wipes the slate, the slate is destroyed. Everything is destroyed. All your great work, lost forever.”

“We should take a stroll then, enjoy it all one last time, before its all gone.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. How could he be so willing to just throw away everything in existence? How could he be so unfeeling?

“Nature, divine. Human nature, toxic.” Chuck commented bitterly.

_Thanks._

“They do like blowing stuff up,” Metatron said sadly, shoulders hunched as he followed Chuck.

“Yeah, and the worst part? They do it in my name. And then they come crying to me, asking me to forgive, to fix things. Never taking any responsibility.”

“What about your responsibility?” Metatron questioned, looking about as fed up as you felt.

“I took responsibility by leaving. At a certain point the training wheels have to come off. No one likes a helicopter parent.”

“What about Amara? She's your sister.” Metatron exclaimed.

“I took responsibility for her too. Locked her away - barely I might add. And who let her out?”

“Sam, Dean and Y/N Winchester, but they're trying to fix that.”

“You know I love those guys, but the word would still be turning with Demon Dean in it. But they couldn't have that though, could they? And so how is Amara being out on me?”

“It's not, but you've helped the Winchesters before.”

“Helped them?” Chuck scoffed. “I've saved them. I've rebuilt Castiel more times than I can remember, look where that got me.”

“So you're just going to let Amara win?”

Chuck shrugged. “Ah, its her time to shine.”

“Then why in the hell are we working on your stupid memoir?” Metatron asked, not bothering to hide his anger.

“You think its stupid?”

_Yes._

“No, I think its stupid to write a book nobody is going to be around to read!” Metatron shouted.

“You told me to write for an audience of one, me. And I think we're finally getting somewhere.”

Suddenly you were back at the bar, laid across the counter as though you'd never left it.

“You started writing the second she came back, didn't you?” Metatron accused. “No wonder you're on a deadline! Now I understand why you're masquerading in that sad little meat suit. For the same reason you created this nostalgic bar to write your masterpiece in – you're hiding.”

“Okay, first of all, this gift” – Chuck pointed to his face - “is super cute. Secondly, I'm not hiding. I just like the ambiance in here.”

“You said 'the safest place ever created',” Metatron pointed an accusatory finger at Chuck. “Created by you to keep you safe from Amara, she can't touch you in here.”

“You're upset, I understand. And its good to let it out.” Chuck turned his back on Metatron, walking away from him and back to the booth. “But lets focus on finishing my book.”

Metatron didn't move, fury etched on his face.

“You know, I was a crappy, terrible God.” Metatron started, trembling in anger. “My work was pretty much a lame, half-assed re-write of your greatest hits, but at least I was never a coward.”

You couldn't believe that you were cheering Metatron of all people on, but watching him stand firm, sticking up for humanity, you couldn't help but feel a bubble of admiration for his bravery.

Chuck stood back up, his blue eyes smouldering with holy wrath. A thunderous crash sounded as the bar doors were flung opened wide, and Metatron's fragile human frame flew through the room before being ejected from the bar, and out into the cold night.

Unable to stay a silent witness any longer, you leapt from your place atop the bar, transforming back into your human form with ease.

“Hey!” You yelled, taking a furious step towards Chuck. “Leave him the hell alone!”

“Look who finally decided to show herself,” Chuck acknowledged unsurprised, still looking terrifying. “Been enjoying the show, have you?”

“Not really,” you said angrily. “I was kind of hoping this was all a bad dream actually, because if this really is you, I'd rather you'd just stayed dead. You're not the Chuck that I used to know.”

“But he's the guy I know,” Metatron re-entered the bar gleefully, despite nursing a painful arm. “The guy I love.” He looked at you in confusion for a second, but he soon turned back to happily face Chuck. 

“I remember the first time I saw you,” Metatron smiled wistfully at his father. “All the angels were terrified, but I wasn't. The feeling of your light was just beyond measure. And then the unthinkable – you picked me to help you with your tablets.”

“You were just the closest angel to the door when I walked in the room.” Chuck said coolly. “There is nothing special about you Metatron. Not then, not now.”

Watching Metatron's face fall, distraught, made you angrier than it should have done. Clenching your fist tight, you swung a furious punch toward Chuck's face, but you were abruptly stopped as he flung you into the bar counter without as much of a wave of his hand.

Your back collided with the hard wood, and you winced in pain as Chuck towered over you.

“Haven't you been listening?” Chuck shouted as you palmed your sharply aching back. “Don't you know who I am? I could crush you with a thought.” Chuck's smoulder should have terrified you, but it was hard to take him seriously as God, when all of your memories reminded you of the man you'd once loved.

“I've been listening alright, I know who you are. I just didn't realise how much of an asshole you really were. You wanna crush me? Go ahead.” You held your arms out, taunting him to take a shot. “I'd rather that than listen to you make excuses for your cowardice, because Metatron is right, you are hiding!”

“Come on Y/N, is that really any way to talk to your boyfriend?” Chuck asked, his audacity astounding you.

“You haven't been my boyfriend for a long time,” you seethed. “Let me guess, I was just the closest human to the door?”

“Something like that,” Chuck shrugged, leaving your mouth hanging agape. “Now I have been called many things; absentee father, wrathful monster, but coward?” Chuck shook his head. “I am not hiding,” he said, barely a whisper. “I am just done watching my experiment's failures.”

“You mean your failures Chuck.” You told him, staggering to stand as pain still radiated through you. “You can't say that your creations are failures when you're the one that made us. If we are flawed, its because you made us flawed.”

“Its because I gave you free will!” Chuck glowered. “Free will, to do anything you wanted. You know, I've found humanity on a whole to be a disappointment, but I have to say, you turned out to be the biggest disappointment of all.”

“I disappointed you?” You laughed, unable to believe the ridiculousness of the situation. “I stood by you – through the drinking, the headaches. I cleaned up after your mess, took care of the both of us because you could barely take care of yourself. All the missed date nights because you were too black-out drunk, all the times that I caught you on the phone with 'Mistress Magda'. Our whole relationship was full of disappointment, but I never gave up on you.”

“But you should have!” Chuck raised his voice. “No matter what I did, you just stuck around like a needy little puppy – fitting really, given your disguise of choice tonight. I've been watching you Y/N, ever since I left. I've seen every rotten thing that you've done. Summoning demons, begging to trade your soul for mine. And even worse, using black magic and killing people, just to try and bring back someone who didn't love you enough to stick around.”

“Murderers!” You defended, trying not to focus on his comment about not loving you enough. “I killed murderers, rapists – people that deserved to die. I didn't just pick random people from the street. I saved lives by killing them.”

“And who gave you the right to play Me?” Chuck asked. “Whether you thought they deserved to die or not, it wasn't your place to judge.”

You looked down at the ground, no longer able to meet his eyes. “I just wanted you back,” you quivered, ashamed.

“But I didn't want to come back, Y/N,” he told you, as though you should have known. “Finishing those books was a relief, not because I didn't have to pretend to be a prophet any more, but because I was free from you.”

“Then why didn't you tell me to leave? ” You asked, fighting back tears. You'd always made excuses for his behaviour, blamed the pressure from being a prophet, and the alcohol he'd poisoned himself with to cope.

“And throw away an easy lay?” He laughed darkly. “Do you know how boring it was under angelic witness-protection? You passed the time.”

“Go to Hell Chuck,” you spat, leaning your head into crossed arms so that he couldn't see you crying.

“I'm already there.” You heard him say, devoid of emotion. “You know if wanna watch, be my guest.” The television screens above the bar magically sprung to life; news reports on each screen depicted the destruction that Amara was wreaking. “You ask me, they're all re-runs.”

“Fix this,” you implored him. “You can fix this!”

But Chuck just shook his head. “Sorry, not this time.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes, you have to recognise when something isn't worth saving.” Chuck told you bluntly. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a book to finish.”

You slumped back against the wall, head in your arms as you heard the sound of Chuck resuming his typing. Something told you that his statement was about more than just the end of the world.

“You know what, Chuck? That's enough.” 

You looked up to see Metatron stalking towards Chuck. “You are light. Beauty. Creation. Wrath. Damnation and salvation. I don't care if we were just the angel and human nearest the door, you picked us. Your light shined on us. Us! And the warmth... But then you left us. You left all of us. It wasn't just the saps on Earth that were praying to you, the angels prayed too. And so did I, every day.”

“I know,” Chuck said, almost sounding guilty.

“If you want to sell the best-selling autobiography of all time, you explain to me - tell me why you abandoned me. Us.”

“Because you disappointed me. You all disappointed me.”

“I know I'm a disappointment, but you're wrong about humanity. They are your greatest creation because they're better than you are. Sure they're weak, and they cheat and steal and destroy and disappoint, but they also give, and create. And they sing and they dance, and _love_. And above all, they never give up – she never gave up! But you do.”

Chuck held Metatron's gaze wordlessly for a moment, before adjusting his glasses and returning to his typing without retort.

“Just leave him to it,” you told Metatron, casting a sickened glance at your ex-boyfriend. “The world is about to end and we're in a magical cosmic bar full of alcohol. We might as well get drunk.”

* * * * *

A bottle of Jose Cuervo's finest between the two of you, and you were starting to feel a little better. Deciding that if it was the end of days then holding a grudge seemed pointless, you allowed yourself to be regaled with stories from what Metatron called 'the good old days.'

“-So there he was, shouting at this fig tree! And of course the disciples are looking at each other like the guy's gone crazy,” Metatron slapped his knee hard with laughter. “And he's so mad, he says to the tree 'May no one ever eat fruit from you again'! And then God makes Raphael go down to Earth and curse the tree to never bare fruit.”

“Dude must have been real hangry,” you chuckled.

“Well you'd know all about hangry, I can't believe you ate that sandwich off the floor!” Metatron laughed, topping up both of your glasses.

You paled, making a gagging face. “Hey! I was undercover!” You blushed. “You know, I kind of feel bad, knowing that you've been living like that for so long.”

“Its no less than I deserve,” Metatron shrugged, as though he'd accepted his fate.

“Still...” You frowned. “I'm not saying that I forgive you, but what you said about humanity earlier, it was very touching. Thank you Metatron.”

The man let out a long sigh. “I think that I could have enjoyed being human, under different circumstances,” he admitted.

“And under different circumstances, I think we could have been friends,” _Maybe I should call it a day on the tequila_ , you thought, feeling awkward. 

A throat clearing noise behind you made you spin around in your seat, and you turned to see Chuck standing from his seat, with an exaggerated stretch.

“I hate to break up this little love fest,” Chuck teased, pointing at Metatron and yourself. “But I think I'm about finished.”

“Bully for you,” you rolled your eyes.

“You know I lied before. I didn't really learn to play guitar. I just kind of gave myself the ability.” Chuck told you with a smile, as though he hadn't just been a total asshat less than an hour ago. “I did the same when I learned French. Man, this whole honesty thing is really freeing!” He grinned, taking to the stage and setting himself down on the stool. “Come on, both of you take a look at the new pages. You know you want to.”

“I think I'll pass,” Metatron said glumly, whereas you didn't even bother to dignify Chuck with an answer.

“I think you're really going to like them.” Chuck told you in a singsong voice, the feedback from the microphone making you wince. “You're right, its a little high.” He nodded. “Alright, suit yourselves.”

Chuck began to strum his guitar, the melody soothing. And then, as he started to sing, for a fleeting moment everything felt right with the world. 

_“If I had wings, like Noah's dove_  
_I'd fly up the river to the one I love_  
_Fare thee well, oh honey_  
_Fare thee well”_

All of your anger towards him faded away, and just for a little while you allowed yourself to be engulfed in his light. His melancholic voice hypnotised you as you watched him perform, goosebumps prickling your entire body like static electricity.

_“I knew a man,long and tall_  
_He moved his body like a cannonball_  
_Fare thee well, oh honey_  
_Fare thee well”_

You were faintly aware of Metatron moving away, presumably his curiosity getting the better of him as he walked off to read the new pages, but your eyes were still glued to Chuck. There was no denying that this man was God, his soulful melody radiating a feeling of pure energy that filled every corner of the room, reaching right to your soul and tugging on your heartstrings.

_“I remember one night in the drizzling rain_  
_Around my heart, I felt an aching pain_  
_Fare thee well, oh honey_  
_Fare thee well”_

Barely realising what you were doing, you stood from your seat at the bar. Gaze never leaving Chuck, you took a step forward, and then another, until you were right beside the stage. From close up, you could appreciate the way that the spotlight illuminated his ocean blue eyes – the eyes that for so long you'd yearned to see, just one more time. Eyes that betrayed his emotions, that showed he was hurting more than he was willing to admit. Eyes that you would love, until the very end.

_“One of these days, it won't be long_  
_You'll call my name and I'll be gone_  
_Fare thee well, oh honey_  
_Fare thee well_  
_Fare thee well”_

And just like that, you were back in the alleyway, ripped away from the light of his being. The sun was high in the sky, but you were sheltered from its warmth by the shadows cast from the tall, dirty buildings around you. Everything felt cold, wrong, and you wanted to be back there.

You turned to Metatron, wondering if this was how he felt when God left Heaven in the first place, but his expression was sorrowful as he gripped Chuck's manuscript tightly to his chest.

“What is it? What does it say?” You asked Metatron urgently, and he gave you a pitying look.

“We should probably talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a lot more ideas for this little one-shot, some of which is already typed up. If you'd like to read more (with smut obviously, because this is me!), let me know.
> 
> Sorry if I kind of went on a bit of a tangent when describing Chuck singing - I was lucky enough to see Rob Benedict singing Fare Thee Well live a few weeks ago, and it was such an amazing experience! I kind of used the memory to fuel that scene!


End file.
